Commentary on whatever I am thinking about, usually written while watching baseball.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

An addict's confession

You know, I'm relieved to see that the authorities have finally caught on. Becuase now I feel like I can tell my story.

I've been using "O" for years, for as long as I can remember, really. And if that weren't bad enough, I turned my family on to it too. Even my kid. I'm not sure what kind of a man that makes me, and I don't want to think about it.

Back in the old neighborhood, while other kids were busy being children, I grew up fast. Too fast. It's just that the shit was so readily available. On every street corner store someone was peddling O, and the lure of that bright yellow box was just too much for a kid like me to resist. Shit, I could even score it in diners. My parents hated when I did that, but I was too far gone to listen to them.

As for the diners' owners, they didn't even try to hide it. Little one-hit boxes were lined up in plain view, right behind the counter where the cops drank their free coffee. Everyone knew what was going on, but nobody wanted to rock the boat. The money was just too good.

Eventually, a new formula hit the streets. Something everyone called "the honey." It was like candy, man, and pretty soon it seemed like all the kids in the neighborhood were wired. Suddenly it was dessert for breakfast man, real black-is-white, through-the-looking-glass shit. A whole generation was spinning out of control.

They talk about gateway drugs, but I can't really blame that. I mean yeah, I can remember using Fruit Loops with little regard for the consequences. We just didn't think about tomorrow then.

But now the feds are catching on, and I've had to go underground. Lately I've been scoring O from a new dealer. I don't know much about him really, not even his real name -- he calls himself "Trader Joe" and he keeps going on about how earthy and natural his shit is.

Whatever, hippie. The stuff is good and the price is right. Save your speeches for the chicks with the hairy armpits.

Look at me, what I'm putting up with, and for what? Maybe it's time to get out. You know, make something of myself, grow up. Order some eggs. Like an adult.